Through Fire and Ice
by Preu
Summary: Can promises truly last? A fan-fiction history of Prussia, with some liberties taken. Mostly PrussiaxHungary
1. Prologue

_Christmas Day, 1999_

_I stood on the balcony of my hotel room in New York, close to the United Nations headquarters. It was ironic that I even came here, for I wasn't even a nation anymore. It was a hard drop from the strongest country in the world to something even less than one._

_I hated the title Kaliningrad Oblast. I hate the name Kaliningrad. A Russian ice-coating attempting to calm a proud Prussian soul._

_You're probably wondering how I came to be like this. It's a long, long story._

_A sound in my room caused me to turn about. There were heavy footsteps as my brother entered. "Gilbert? We're leaving in two hours for the Christmas dinner," Ludwig said, his blue eyes on his older brother._

_The mention of it irked me as I turned to him. Did he really think I was weak enough to need reminders? Especially every hour. Fifteen minutes would be fine, but every hour? Restraining my anger, but just barely, I nodded and uttered a terse reply. "Ja."_

_Noting my anger, he very quickly backed out. Ludwig was smart. He lived long enough with me to read my emotions._

_I sighed and leaned over the balcony, watching the movement of pedestrians underneath me. They were so happy, unaware of the great turmoil of politics all around them. It was such a long plunge and such a quick…_

_The sound of my door creaking open alerted me again, snapping me out of my thoughts. Old instincts caused my hand shift down to my pelt where my trusty Luger handgun was hidden. I peered into the room cautiously, but only Elizabeta was there. As she came in, she locked the door behind her._

_"You scared me," I mumbled, a bit annoyed at myself for being so jumpy. I put my hands into my pockets, leaning against the balcony again._

_"Gilbert," she began. Then, she embraced me, hugging me hard. I pushed my face into her hair, inhaling her scent. It was with great difficulty before I pushed her away, unsure of what to make of this. All the while, my fingers seemed to have a life of their own as they entangled themselves with her light brown locks of hair, caressing them gently._

_"Elizabeta," I answered. "I-"_

_Bringing her fingers to her lips, Elizabeta silenced me and gestured toward the bedroom. As I came into the room, I closed the sliding doors, blocking out the sounds of the street below._

_"What is it?" I asked, watching her curiously with red eyes. I could tell where it was going. How long ago was it since I felt her soft skin against me or heard her lips whisper sweet words into my ears? Our past love couldn't have lasted in earlier circumstances but now we were both free on the dawn of a new millennium._

_It wasn't any surprise to me when she pushed me to the bed, her lips on mine as we devoured each other impatiently. I loved her, and she loved me as much in return. We had waited too long for this to take it slowly. I had been under Russia's harsh jurisdiction for the past few decades and even after the Soviet Union failed, I was forbidden from talking with anyone else. It had been too long of a time._

_I felt her hands work at my tie, swiftly pulling it loose the dark silk. A sudden flush of warmth in my veins made me moan softly, an animalistic sound of instinct that came from my throat. Then, Elizabeta's fingers began caressing the growing bulge on my crotch and unbuckled my belt, eventually tugging down my pants. Ah, Gott, the feelings were too great to describe._

_All the while, my hands struggled at her dress, tugging it off her slim body, bronzed lightly under a life of sun. She smelled of flowers, like she always had. I had first noticed that smell when we were alone as young, inexperienced teens in the forests of the Transylvanian Alps._

_That time flew by fast both back then and now, a flurry of lust and satisfaction here and political violence back then. We made love underneath the covers of the bed, our forms obscured by the heavy blanket. At last, when the figures were still for some time, I murmured into her ear, "I love you, Elizabeta."_

_She turned her face toward me and nuzzled my neck. "Gilbert…I'm so glad that Russia's letting you go…mostly," the Hungarian answered, her green eyes locked to my red ones. The passion in them made my heart melt._

_"Mhmm," I replied, too tired to think. I snuggled closer toward her and she mirrored me until she was eventually nestled into my body. We fell asleep holding each other, unaware of anything else._

* * *

><p><em>I was roughly shaken out of sleep by impertinent knocks to the door. I was tempted to pull a pillow over my head and tell the person to fuck off when my hands touched Elizabeta's body next to me. Immediately, all the events flew back into my head. The Christmas party! Ach scheiße! Was I really so dumb?<em>

_"Eliza?" I said, shaking her shoulders gently as if she were a precious object too valuable to break. "It's time to go."_

_She eventually stirred and kissed me hard on the mouth as she did. I was taken by amazement for that one but I indulged her. When we parted, the knocking had only become more frantic. Who the hell wanted me that much?_

_"Coming!" I yelled, struggling my pants up my legs. I grabbed a white shirt and wore it, tucking the bottom into my pants. Over all that, I put a belt on to hold my pants up and finally a jacket._

_I glanced over at Elizabeta and was surprised to find that she was already done changing. "Fast, ja?" I chuckled, giving her a smile. I went over to the door and opened it, seeing Ludwig._

_Few people can boast of seeing him impatient, but here he was with a slight flush of indignation across his face. "Bruder, what were you…" he began, but as soon as he spotted Elizabeta and my rumpled appearance, he must have known what had occurred. Immediately, he dropped the subject and gestured downstairs._

_"We have ten minutes to make it to the building," he commented curtly before walking off._

_"Well, you heard him," I shrugged, turning to the Hungarian. She was already by my side and tugging my arm._

_"Let's go, Gil," she urged, a playful smile on her face. It warmed my cheeks to hear her use a childhood endearment._

_I returned her with a crooked grin and we made our ways to the elevator and to the parking lot. "You'll be riding with us, then, Elizabeta?" I asked as I walked towards Ludwig's stolid figure in front of a BMW._

_"If that's okay with you," she answered as she came towards me._

_As I opened the door, I planted a kiss on her forehead and whispered, "Of course it's fine with me. Anything for you, Elizabeta."_

_It was a promise I had struggled to keep through history. It had been hard trying to preserve it with the wars and tumult going on back then, but it was a promise. Gilbert Beilschmidt did not break promises in theory, though he had broken so many before._

_Outside the automobile, it began to snow, reminding me of the beginning of it all._


	2. 1: And the world came crashing down

Winter, 476 CE

The northern forests were famed for their brutal winters. As the snow fell, a single small figure made its way through the trees, leaving small prints in the snow. The wind tore and clawed at the rough woolen cloak he wore about his slim shoulders but he hurried onwards towards his home, energized by the prospect of a warm fire and food.

Gilbert pulled open the door and stumbled inside, shaking snow off his shoulders as he hung his bow up on the rack. His red eyes searched the inside of his family's humble home, landing on his younger brother. Dropping the pheasant he had stashed underneath an arm, which was a product of the day's hunt, he lunged at his blonde sibling.

"Ludwig!" he cried, tackling him to the ground. He grinned at Ludwig, happy to be home.

Meanwhile, Ludwig tried to push him off. The young boy glared at Gilbert, looking rather annoyed. "Get off, bruder," he said, his voice calm and controlled although he was shoved into this indignant position.

His older brother continued grinning at him, his classic smile on his pale features. He picked up and dropped his hunting trophy onto the kitchen counter. The silence of the cottage surprised him. It was usually bustling with activity, due to his other two brothers, grandfather, and the visitors

"Where are Opa, Friedrich, and Wilhem?" Gilbert asked, turning to Ludwig.

Ludwig shrugged, his small shoulders rolling underneath his clothing. "I don't know," he answered, his blue eyes honest. "Friedrich and Wilhem said that they were going out after you since you were out for so long. Opa Germania said that he had business to attend to."

"Ach scheiße," Gilbert mumbled. "I…hope they get home quickly." He moved towards the kitchen counter again, pulling out rough loaves of bread and devouring it in pregnant silence. Were his brothers safe? He hadn't meant to be out that long but that pheasant presented itself as a lovely eating on a winter's night. Too bad Opa wasn't home to cook it for them, though he was sure he could try himself.

Hoof beats filled the silence.

The door suddenly burst open and Gilbert's head snapped around. He was relieved to see it was Aldrich, otherwise known as Germania, but there was a strange awkwardness to his movements. One leg seemed incapacitated and the young Germanic boy moved forward, catching his grandfather just as he stumbled.

Gilbert felt warm liquid on his hands as he helped Aldrich up. "Großvater, are you okay?" he chirped, his white brows drawing together as they furrowed with worry.

"Gilbert, I am fine," Aldrich managed out, his voice thick with pain. As he raised himself, Ludwig and Gilbert both saw a very dark, scarlet stain spreading across his chest.

Ludwig let out a cry of surprise and moved towards his grandfather, clutching one leg in terror. "What happened?" he asked.

Aldrich beamed down upon his young grandchildren with a smile but it turned out to be more of a pained grimace of concern as he wondered what would happen to the four brothers left under his care.

"Uncle Aetius did some very bad things," he lied. He recalled their fight just a couple of hours back…

* * *

><p>"<em>My brother, how are you? It has been some time since I had last seen you," the figure commented as he turned from the balcony overlooking his city as he walked over to embrace me. I returned the gesture, smelling his heavy musk, tinted with the Mediterranean spice of oranges and olive oil.<em>

_How soon this will end. I smiled, closing my eyes, as I enjoyed his embrace just for a few moments. He was a friend, but this time, his men had just gone a tad too far for his liking. I loved him and he loved me in return. However, he Germanic tribes, supposedly allies of Rome with promised benefits, had been mistreated by the Romans in terrible ways. _

"_I'm sorry, Aetius. My people cannot stand the abuse any longer," I said as my hand slid the short stabbing blade from its sheathe on my belt. With a single thrust upwards, my good friend was done. I moved back as he staggered, his face raw with betrayal._

_Aetius looked at me in impotent anger with his tawny eyes, critical as the eagle he was named after. He could not understand the pain I was going through as the Germanic people pressed me to end the harsh rule upon their land._

"_Aldrich…" he managed out as crimson blood spilled from his mouth, down his front. Staining the white fabric of his clothes. Clothes that the blood and sweat of my people paid for._

_I turned away, unable to take the scene any longer. Tears poured unbidden from my eyes as I moved out of the hall._

_However, a hoarse croak coming from Aetius stopped me in my tracks. "Why?"_

_Emotions welling up within me, I couldn't help but move back towards him. I took his body and nestled it against me. Our eyes met as a sharp pain jerked through my leg. Then, as Aetius moved closer to me, I felt a length of steel enter my flank. _

"_I'm sorry," he whispered, pressing his lips against my cheek. "Don't hurt Lovino or Feliciano…please."_

_The wily old fox. I knew this was coming._

_As blood splattered down my tunic, I drew my cloak over the stain and went out of the villa, towards the wilderness fasts of my home. Hopefully, I would get there before anything happens; I prayed to my gods to keep Gilbert, Ludwig, Friedrich, and Wilhem safe and sound._

* * *

><p>"What did you do, Großvater?" Gilbert ventured. As soon as Aldrich gave him an icy glare, he wished he had never asked the question.<p>

Aldrich's eyes softened as he noticed their fear and uncertainty. "Where are Wilhem and Friedrich?" he asked, noting their absence.

"They went out after me because I was out for so long," his albino grandson answered as he gestured to the pheasant. "I was out hunting that."

The Germanic warrior managed a smile at his grandson's triumph. After that, there was an awkward silence where a wet hissing sound could be heard. Immediately, he knew that he was done for. The blade had cut into his lungs and, already, he was beginning to be drowned in his own blood. The gurgle of his breath was sibilant in the hush.

"Großvater, sit down…I'll make you a hot drink," Gilbert offered, helping Aldrich to a chair. He sat down with great pain, leaning back.

How could he break it to them? He was not long for this world. His soul would be flying loose.

"Gilbert, Ludwig, I am not going to be here for much longer," Aldrich stated bluntly, his piercing blue gaze on the children. To his surprise, they were quite stoic about it, without tearing up or anything. He was glad they were growing up to be strong. "Take care…of your brothers, Gilbert. Ludwig, come over here."

"Opa," Ludwig mumbled, hugging him. He pressed his face into Aldrich's long braided hair. The warrior was heartened by the use of the affectionate term for his relation to him.

Gilbert moved closer, clenching his fist a bit as he nodded. "I will, Großvater. I promise you," he answered. Real Germanic warriors did not cry. Awesome him did not cry. However, he could not hold some emotion back. Without his bidding, fat droplets of salty tears rolled down his rosy cheeks, dripping onto his garments.

Aldrich smiled as he took his last breath, a clouded look passing over his icy blue eyes. His last thought was on the wellbeing on the two.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>I took some liberties with the names of the characters. I assume Bavaria and Saxony are the two missing siblings of Germany. You'll meet those guys later on.

Many of these names were taken from 20000-names.c*om.

Aldrich, Germania: Old ruler in Old High German

Aetius, Ancient Rome: Greek word for eagle, but a popular Latin name

Friedrich, Saxony: Peaceful ruler in Old High German

Wilhem, Bavaria: Will-helmet in Old High German

**Historical notes:** The western Roman Empire was indeed taken down by Germanic invaders in the late fifth century. Germanic rulers continued to rule from Italy and the capital of Rome but they could never reconquer the vast lands that they had lost, shattered by divisions within the different Germanic tribes. I was planning on making these tribes Germania's other sons and therefore uncles of the four kids. However, there's a lot of them and I really don't want to confuse anyone.

After the fall of Rome, the Dux Italiae was created, literally the Duchy of Italy. It was given to the leader of the revolt, Odoacer, who became King of Italy. Later, it is to be taken over by Ostrogoths, Lombards, and later the HRE :D

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. 2: breaking into pieces before my eyes

Winter, 476 CE

I blinked my red eyes, unbelieving that this was happening to me. Yes, I've seen tons of people die every day, but this? My own invincible grandfather? It seemed like he could never die.

Before Ludwig or I could even react, the door burst open a second time. I recognize a couple of the group that came in as visitors who talked to Aldrich in the past. To my horror, I saw Wilhelm and Friedrich with them. They looked rather tousled up, as if their captors had been rough in handling them.

Their eyes widened as they saw Großvater's body lying on the chair, still with the solidity of death. Wilhelm's face hardened as he looked to me, questioning me with his hazel gaze.

Out of all my brothers, I hated Wilhelm the most. He was always an insidious little Arsch, taking advantage of the others for his own gain. As for Friedrich, he was okay. A little bookish and interested in writing, but he was smart. It sucks for him that his nerdiness got him bullied by Wilhelm, eventually escalating into fights that I broke up.

The dark brown haired form of a man strode toward me. He was dressed well, with oriental silk woven among his many garments. A rich fur-lined cloak was draped about his slim shoulders. "Francis, you can take the small one," he decreed, gesturing to Ludwig.

I felt a spark of rage flash through me. They were separating us? "No!" I shouted, surging towards my little brother. Hands grabbed me and shoved me back roughly. I struggled and squirmed like a caught fish, hoping to break free of their hold. However, the men were stronger and held me back. Eventually, I gave up since it was futile.

"Bruder!" Ludwig cried, his voice tearing through my heart. A youngish blonde man reached forward and gestured toward him, which resulted in Ludwig's disappearance behind the heavy cloaks of two Frankish soldiers. At least they looked Frankish to me. The Franks were another Germanic tribe and they were a nice lot. Ludwig should be fine…hopefully.

"I won't let them do anything to you!" I promised him, struggling again. Ludwig was so young and vulnerable…I wasn't about to let him go that easily. Incensed by his plaintive cry for help, I managed to break free from one guard, but the other one pushed me to the ground roughly. Tears threatened to spring from my eyes as I realized I couldn't complete my promise. I was weak and there was nothing I could do to help Ludwig.

In a growling voice, one of the guards leaned down and hissed into my ear, "Quit squirming or I'll run my blade through you."

Fearing for my life, I stopped. This man was definitely serious. However, the thought of Ludwig in such a hostile world rent at my soul.

"Thanks, Sanctius," Francis nodded in the direction of the brunette. He looked rather pleased with himself. "What about the other two?"

Wilhelm and Friedrich looked up at Francis, wondering what their fate was. Meanwhile, I was worrying about myself. They hadn't mentioned me yet.

Sanctius eyed my remaining brothers with his golden eyes, scrutinizing them. From what I've seen, I think he is a son of Uncle Aetius as he had the same eyes. A Christian, too, from the cross hanging down from his neck.

"They could be taken under the care of the other tribes," he decreed. A rough looking Germanic chieftain smiled, baring rotting yellow teeth at us as he did. He didn't look too friendly to me and I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious. He did not look like a member of the tribes I was in contact with, but judging from his furs, he was from somewhere north of where I lived.

"As for the last one, I will take him myself," Sanctius nodded, his yellow gaze sliding down to me. I looked back up with my scarlet ones and they met.

Friedrich and Wilhelm were taken away by the mysterious German. These two, I was sure, could take care of themselves. It was Ludwig, poor little Ludwig, that I worried about the most.

"What is your name?"

The question came from Sanctius in the melodious tones of his voice. He offered me a smile and gestured the guards to unhand me, which they did.

I did not want to answer. This was the man who had taken apart my family…what did I owe him? Feeling a rage well up within me, I wanted to lunge and hurt him as much as possible. No doubt that I'll be put down quickly, my mind simmered with this fantasy.

"He needs to be taught manners," Sanctius continued. His dark brows drew together in a frown. "My name is Sanctius Pius Augustus. I am under the authority of Papa Simplicius to bring you back to Rome, to be raised, as your current guardian is not with us anymore. What is your name?" he asked again.

I kept my mouth shut, looking up defiantly. That was my only defense against them, lacking both power and strength to fight.

"He is a quiet one, I guess," the man concluded, tired of trying to speak with me. "Are there any horses in their stables? We'll need another one for him to ride on."

Thinking about the horses made me think of my own stallion, a fine ebony charger that was given to me two years ago by my grandfather. I didn't want to leave him out there to perish in the winter, confused about why his master had abandoned him.

"The black stallion is mine," I chirped up.

Sanctius turned to me in surprise. He beamed down at me proudly, almost like a father to his son. "That one is yours, I presume?" he suggested. I reacted with a nod, to which he responded, "What's his name?"

"Nachtsturm," I answered. Maybe my feelings of ill will were incorrect. Sanctius seemed quite amiable and friendly. As I thought about this, the man turned to the guards and gestured for them to take Nachtsturm from the back.

"You will be living at my house for now," Sanctius then continued, taking my hand. His palm was warm and soft, as if he led a life of luxury and ease. Most likely, he commanded others to do his work for him. "Pack all that you need. Come on."

Reluctantly, I nodded. I did not want to leave my home, the only one that I had ever known, but there was no choice now. Grandfather was dead and there was no life for a group of young boys alone in the wilderness. As I mulled over the thoughts, I grabbed my bow and arrows. I did not have many belongings in the house that I really cherished. With that, I went outside into the lightly falling snow.

Nachtsturm whinnied and nickered as his soft brown eyes spotted me. I reached forward and stroked his soft, velvet muzzle, hoping to calm him. Even though we were different species, I could sense his confusion at the sight and smell of these strange men.

Swinging my legs over his broad back, I mounted the stallion. The others had taken to their own mounts already and Sanctius spurred his bay stallion on. With that, we were trudging off through the thick cover of snow.

My eyes scanned the ground as I discerned the tracks of the others who had left earlier. Ludwig's small little footprints went off to the west with some other men's. The other mass of tracks went off to the northwest.

"So, are you going to answer my earlier question? What is your name?" Sanctius asked again, jerking me out of my thoughts again.

Sighing, I turned my red eyes to him and cautiously answered, "My name is Gilbert."

* * *

><p><strong>Historical Note<strong>: Germany, back then the Holy Roman Empire, was taken by France because the Frankish king Charlemagne was the first Holy Roman Emperor. As for Bavaria and Saxony, I just chucked them into the other Germanic Tribes.

Sanctius Pius Augustus is my name for the infant Vatican in Rome, though he's not exactly an infant. I was thinking of his background as a neglected son of Rome who eventually became the most powerful due to the officialdom of Christianity as the religion of Rome. Simplicius was the current Pope at the time, as well.

Liberties have been taken :D


	4. 3: strength is what i need

476 CE, Summer

Life in Rome was different from life in the wilderness of Aldrich's home. Every morning, Gilbert busied himself with the early chores of Sanctius' household after a morning prayer to the new Christian God. A teacher by the name of Father Felix taught him of the practices of the church along with fighting skills to train him into a soldier for whatever reason Sanctius wanted. He had learned early not to question the man's motives.

His mentor, Papa Felix, did not look like much with his white beard and hair. One could almost mistake him for a jovial grandfather, with his rosy cheeks and twinkling blue eyes. However, as Gilbert learned, it was not the case. Felix had served in the army before embracing the holy life. Though he did not fight anymore, he still retained his prowess with weapons.

Gilbert stepped out of the small church after Felix once their daybreak prayers were done. The sun had only begun to peek over the horizon, casting a yellow glow in the darkness of the Mediterranean morning. It was not hot yet and the young German was glad that he had long discarded the heavy wear of the northern tribes. The light Roman tunics and togas were more suited to the temperate climates, especially in the summer.

"Today, I want you to show me your archery," Felix announced as they made their ways to the barracks. Already, the city of Rome was stirring as merchants began setting up their stalls to set their goods. Although he had lived in the city for a few good moons, Gilbert found his eyes wandering over the vibrant array of objects that were offered from all the corners of the dying Empire.

Felix's sharp word caused his attention to turn back to the older man. "I have heard that you are adept at archery," he continued.

"Grandfather made me practice every day. There was a captured Hun who taught me the craft," Gilbert answered proudly. The young teen was eager to show off his skills and excitement brimmed at his voice. Having been too young to wield a full-length sword, Aldrich had decided to give him a bow instead to practice with. Eventually, he outgrew the small bow but he still continued practicing with newer ones.

The teacher smiled, his blue eyes smiling at the younger man. "We shall see about that," Felix nodded.

At the barracks, the soldiers were already up and awake, tending to their daily tasks. Gilbert found himself hugging Felix's trail, not wanting to be lost among the large, armored men that swarmed around them. Already, he had been given a few cuffs and knocks from getting in their ways, though he had made no complaint against them.

They arrived at the archery range when the soldiers were just beginning to practice. Felix gestured to a rack of bows, allowing Gilbert to have a pick at the offerings there. The German inspected the composite bows curiously, eventually selecting one with recurved tips and most resembling the Central Asian bows he had grown used to.

A couple of the soldiers guffawed at seeing the slight figure of Gilbert test the bow string, the hard muscles underneath his shoulders and chest growing taut as he drew his right hand back. It was a good bow, but not equal to the one he had kept since the night when his grandfather died. Having done the preliminaries, he took an arrow and drew it against the tough string with his thumb in Hunnic style until the feathers of the flight kissed his cheeks while he inhaled. The soldiers had grown quiet watching him, he noted as he focused on the target. With an exhale, he sent the arrow cleanly through the center of the target, the string of the instrument producing an audible slap as it came in contact with the wood of the bow. With that, he turned to Felix.

"Good," the man answered simply. Though he did not show it, he was rather surprised by Gilbert's skill. "We would not need to practice that then. Let us sharpen your swordsmanship."

For the moment, he was exultant and wanted to show off further but the mention of sword practice deflated him. Felix seemed to be an expert in that area and always managed to defeat him, no matter how much he tried.

"Yes, master," Gilbert reluctantly agreed.

"Why that tone?" Felix questioned, his critical blue gaze on him.

He looked up and shrugged. Gilbert knew the reason of his reluctance, but he wasn't willing to voice it in fear of Felix's rebuke.

"You will become stronger, Gilbert," Felix explained, resting his calloused hands on the German's shoulders. "Perhaps strong enough to take back your brothers."

The mention of his family sent a surge of energy through him. Gilbert nodded, feeling ready to do anything the old man asked.

* * *

><p><strong>Historical Note:<strong> The Huns were indeed adept horsemen as well as great archers, nearly destroying the Roman Empire. Some speculate that the legend of the centaur started with steppe nomads or perhaps their ancestors. They did use recurved composite bows and could shoot targets accurately and quickly from a racing horse. Because the Mongolians used the thumb-draw for their bow, I had the Huns use it as well, because they were most likely closely related tribes, separated by time.


	5. 4: conflict in the holy land

Acre, Summer, 1191 CE

It had been a good day.

The Mediterranean sun beat down on the brows of the humans below as they worked to secure the city of Acre against the Muslims who had held it before. The walls were broken from the siege weapons the crusaders had employed and the workers struggled to repair them before the forces of Islam had gathered again to fight them and liberate sympathetic Muslims still stuck inside.

Hopefully something they would not achieve.

Gilbert doubted that it would happen. The young German was tanned from beating sun, darkened by the months spent in the warm climate, his face burnt browner by its punishing rays. It was even hotter than Rome where he had been residing for the past few centuries, which he had not believed possible.

He had grown into a powerfully framed young man, a Teutonic Knight whose order had been created a little around a year ago. Gilbert was still recognizable as the young foreigner who had trained in Rome with his white hair and piercing red eyes. His white surcoat and cape were decorated with the cross patée of their order.

His attention was jerked away from the battlement scene as he noted the approach of a messenger on horseback. The man dismounted, presenting a dispatch to the knight. Gilbert took it curiously, noting that it was stamped with the monogram of the English king. He took his dagger and removed the wax, his red eyes perusing the letter.

As he read, the expression from his face turned to shock. "These came from King Richard directly?" he questioned, unable to comprehend the depravity of the orders. "We cannot just…massacre the citizens."

It reminded him too much of when the fall of his grandfather had left his family in ruins.

"The other generals are already doing it, Lord," the messenger answered, gesturing to the city. Already, soldiers who had supposedly taken up the cross were looting and pillaging the defeated city. "The soldiers are restless and are in want of needs. They are just Muslims in the city, no Christians of sorts."

Gilbert gritted his teeth in disgust, tearing up the letter. As the paper shreds fell to the ground, he signaled to a band of his knights nearby. "Konrad, Otto, come with me in to the city!" he called. He mounted his horse and raced off without even waiting for the other two warriors.

Fires had begun across the city and the streets were choked with dead bodies. It was disgusting to think that men could throw down their morals into the blood soaked dust and fall to their baser instincts. In the winding alleyways, the Teutonic knight was appalled to see the rape of innocent women.

He paused as he beheld one of these scenes. Three English soldiers had dragged out three women, one of them barely older than a teen. As their menfolk tried to stop them, they were cut down with sharp swords. The women's screams echoed in his ears as the soldiers ripped off their clothing.

Unable to watch the scene anymore, Gilbert guided his horse into the alley, shouting in English, "Stop!"

One soldier took pause and looked up, an ugly sneer on his face. "We're under the Lionheart's command, not under yours," he shot back. He pawed at the youngest girl, who tried to twist away from his touch.

The soldiers were too into their sport that they didn't notice their leader's head was gone from his neck until hot blood spurted into their faces. They dropped what they were doing, shocked by the sudden murder.

"Again, I tell you to leave, Englander," Gilbert growled, his scarlet blade held ready. At this, the two soldiers fled. Meanwhile, the unfortunate women profusely thanked in their tongue; it was in a foreign language, but he found that he understood their gratefulness. Certain emotions were easy to convey.

One of them took out a cross and held it against her chest. The Knight was surprised by this object; he had thought the Levant was the abode of Muslims solely. "Christ?" he asked, unsure if his suspicions were correct.

They nodded. Gilbert took the dagger from his belt and offered it to them as protection. Then, thoughtfully, he took off his own cross, the golden one given to him by Sanctius, and handed it to them. He wished he could give more and remembered the gold coins in his pockets. The women were glad for the money he gave to them. "God's speed," he told them before mounting back up on his stallion. "I promise that as long as you have that cross, you shall not be harmed by any of the soldiers. They will know you are with the Saviour."

Although they didn't know his language, they understood his words. The family bundled back into their ruined dwelling, fearing for their life.

The knight rode through the city, trying to block out the horror. Most of the citizens of Acre he saw were dead and he was too late to save them. The scenes haunted him for a bit until the sound of another horse's hooves striking the streets alerted him.

He turned about to see the soldiers he had accosted with one of the English leaders of the battle. The older man had an ugly sneer on his face as he approached Gilbert, his sword half-drawn.

Baron Robert of Norfolk was not someone to be disobeyed. The other leaders knew him for his quick temper and his cruelty. It was said that he once had a captured Muslim garrison torched to death, all two hundred of them. His limp brown hair was shoulder length and hung out from under his helmet while his implacable yellow eyes surveyed the world with the interest of a hunting eagle.

"Do I have to report you to your Hochmeister, knight?" the baron growled, jabbing a blade at Gilbert. "My soldiers are just getting what they deserved, and you had to stop them?"

"We are all Christians, are we not? What happened to the values that we were supposed to uphold?" he shot back angrily.

"You of all people should know that violence makes men beasts," Robert answered, sheathing his blade as he saw nearby Teutonic knights gather about him. Some of their blades were wet with blood from stopping fights and riots.

"But it is the men who make the violence themselves," Gilbert answered, narrowing his eyes. He hated men who threw away their honor like that. They had taken up the cross only to break what it stood for in these so-called crusades. He hated broken promises.

"What's going on here?" a voice called. A young brown haired teen stepped onto the scene upon a white horse, a cadre of warriors following him. His green eyes flickered from Robert to Gilbert, his gaze questioning. "I've seen too many fights over the spoils of the water; don't tell me the leaders are at it like dogs at a bone."

Robert turned his head slightly to the other teen. "Don't question me, you Magyar pup," he snapped. "It was only by the German emperor's order that your Prince Geza was allowed in on this war to redeem his honor."

The Hungarian bristled at the comment. Gilbert smiled inwardly, thinking that he had gotten himself an ally against the English. However, much to his dismay, the other teen didn't respond.

The baron smiled to himself, sated. He barked a few words at his soldiers and they marched off to continuing the pillaging of Acre.

"You look like a steady warrior," Gilbert commented, extending a mailed and armored hand to the Hungarian. He offered him a smile. "The English needs to get off his high horse, don't you think? Without the Emperor's consent, the Lionheart has taken control of the situation."

He nodded a bit in agreement. "Igen," he smiled. "Are you one of the Teutonic knights, one of the brotherhoods who are helping to fight for this land?"

The German nodded. "Ja. You are correct. My name is Gilbert," he answered. "May I inquire your name?"

"Erzebet," the Hungarian replied. "I have orders that the Lionheart wants the rest of the surviving inhabitants rounded up and killed. Would you help me gather them up?"

His mouth almost dropped in alarm. "Massacre innocents?" he gaped. He had forgotten about saving them! Immediately, he reined up his horse and the black stallion cantered about and around as Gilbert's scarlet eyes searched the burning horizon.

"Where are they leading them?" he blurted out. Then, he noticed the long lines of bedraggled people being herded towards the flat lands outside the city by soldiers. The survivors looked miserable, their faces haggard with the pain of desolation. Children straggled alongside their parents, their eyes wide with fear. The sounds of weeping complemented the crackle of buildings burning in the city.

"Halt!" Gilbert roared at the guards. He urged his horse forward, his countenance grim as he regarded them. To his disappointment, some of them were his own Knights. "On whose orders are they to be taken out?" he asked, his scarlet eyes unforgiving.

One Knight looked up to him and jabbed a sword at the English soldiers ahead. "Lionheart wants them," he replied simply. He was a bit confused as to why his master questioned orders from the king.

"To kill them?" he queried. "We are to protect them! What of your oaths to protect the weak, the innocent, the defenseless?" Gilbert stepped off his horse and began ordering his knights back, forbidding them from herding the prisoners.

It wasn't long before word of this came to the Baron. Robert swept onto the scene like a storm, his yellow eyes glaring poisonous daggers at the younger man. "You promised your aid to this crusade," he argued. His hand was on his blade, ready to draw it out in case he needed to defend himself. "This crusade demands that we destroy the infidels before they become powerful again to fight us."

"They are not all Muslims. They are in no position to fight," the Knight answered back. "The Teutonic Knights will not help you with this."

The Baron turned his head around to survey the scene quickly. An ugly smile spread across his face. "Too late," he grinned.

Gilbert turned.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry about the slow update! I thought I already had this chapter up, but it turned out that I was wrong!

This is the era of the Third Crusade.


End file.
